Cyador’s Heirs

Cigoerne
XXV

A good glass past sunset on fiveday, with barely the faintest trace of twilight left in the western sky, Lerial, Eshlyn, and the half squad of Lancers accompanying them ride into the north courtyard of the palace. Lerial is stiff and sore in a few places, but not nearly so much as he thought he might be.

Undercaptain Woelyt strides forward to meet them. “What detachment is this? No one was expected at the palace this evening.”

Eshlyn glances to Lerial, who eases the bay he has ridden for the latter part of the day forward.

“I fear I’m the cause of the unexpected detachment, Undercaptain.”

Woelyt looks up quizzically, starts to say something, then stops. After a moment, he goes on. “Lord Lerial … there was no word…”

“No … I imagine there wasn’t. When Commander Altyrn felt my training was completed, he sent me back to Cigoerne with the dispatch rider and this escort party.” Lerial inclines his head. “Squad Leader Eshlyn was kind enough to take on the duty.”

“Ser.” Eshlyn nods to the undercaptain. “We were to escort Lord Lerial to the palace and then continue to Lancer headquarters.”

“I won’t keep you,” replies Woelyt. “You’re relieved of escort duty. Report to headquarters as ordered.”

“Thank you, ser.” Eshlyn gestures, and one of the rankers rides forward holding the lead to Lerial’s gelding.

Lerial takes the lead. “Thank you.” Then he turns back to Eshlyn. “And thank you … and your men.”

“Our pleasure, ser.”

Lerial has the feeling that the squad leader actually means it, especially since he smiles before he orders, “Squad! Turn! Forward!”

Neither Woelyt nor Lerial speaks for a moment

Finally, the undercaptain looks up to the still-mounted Lerial. “I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“I doubt I’m much taller,” Lerial says wryly.

“Some, but you’re broader across the shoulders and not so pale. You ride like an officer…”

Lerial can sense relief behind Woelyt’s words. Did I ride that badly before? Somehow … he doesn’t think that is it.

“… I’ll send a messenger to let your mother know you’ve returned.”

“My father?”

“He’s in the north with the Lancers. Near the border. There have been more raids.”

“Have many been hurt? Crops or herds lost?”

“A few. Your father had posted more patrols there before the raids began.”

Lerial nods, then dismounts and begins to walk both horses toward the stable. “I need to get the horses settled.”

“The duty ostler can handle that, ser.”

Lerial smiles. “Tonight, anyway.” He understands Woelyt’s unvoiced hint that his mother would prefer to see him sooner, rather than later.

Even so, after turning the mounts over to the ostler, he does carry his personal gear up to his own dark chamber before heading down the corridor to his parents’ rooms. He steps into the sitting room to see his mother and aunt sitting in the armchairs at each end of the settee. A single wall lamp is lit. Stifling a grin, he says, “I’m sorry to be late, but we rode straight through.” He makes his way to the settee, prepared for a gentle grilling, and seats himself, sitting forward and adjusting the sabre and scabbard.

“That’s a long ride for one day,” offers Emerya.

“We headed out well before sunrise. The Lancers had spare mounts. So I have two stabled here. Tomorrow, I’ll need to return the bay to Lancer headquarters.”

“Majer Altyrn … he did not send word to expect you.”

Lerial notes the concern in his mother’s voice, but before he can say anything, Emerya speaks.

“The majer can’t be too displeased. Lerial’s wearing a sabre.”

“Oh … I didn’t notice, dear. Was that a gift?”

“It’s an old Lancer sabre from many years ago that he had. He thought it suited me, and I think he was right.”

“Why was your return so hasty?” presses Xeranya.

So hasty? After two seasons? Lerial pushes those questions away. “The majer took me on a long ride through the southern valley south of the Wooded Ridges. He persuaded Captain Graessyr to provide a half squad of Lancers as an escort.” Lerial pauses just slightly before continuing. “We ran into a band of Meroweyan raiders.”

“You didn’t…,” begins Xeranya.

“We didn’t have much choice.” Lerial is trying to keep his response ambiguous, without explaining why he felt they had no choice. “They attacked us. The Lancers took the brunt of the attack.”

“You had to fight-personally-didn’t you?” asks Emerya.

Xeranya glances at Emerya, not quite quizzically.

“He’s changed. More than meets the eye,” replies Emerya, who then turns her gaze on Lerial. “What happened?”

“Some of them got past the Lancers…” Lerial goes on to explain all that happened, although he does not actually say that he killed the one raider, and ends up by saying, “We rode back the next day, and the majer sent word to Cigoerne. He arranged for me to leave two days after that … well … a full day and two nights after we got back.”

“He shouldn’t have…,” begins Xeranya.

“He didn’t have any choice. He was using the terrain to teach me tactics. There haven’t been raiders that far north in years.” Lerial’s words are matter-of-fact, not with effort or deceit, but because they’re true. “Even the majer’s consort was upset and surprised that we encountered raiders.”

“I would think so.” Xeranya’s words are cool, too cool.

For a moment, Lerial doesn’t know what to say, but he does want to know more. “Why? Because she’s Heldyan?”

“That’s true.”

“I know,” Lerial replies. “She said she was born in Heldya and raised in Amaershyn.”

“She’s a very lovely person,” adds Emerya. “The majer was fortunate to find her.”

“She was more fortunate that he did.” Xeranya’s voice remains cool.

“She’s been good for him, and he deserves that after all he’s done,” replies Emerya.

“I can’t deny that,” replies Xeranya in a tone that belies her words. “Anyway, we’re glad you’re back safely.”

“Lephi’s out on patrol somewhere?”

“He’s in Narthyl,” affirms Xeranya. “With Overcaptain Carlyt. There were reports of some Heldyan armsmen on the west side of the river.”

“Weren’t there Meroweyan raiders near Narthyl as well? Earlier?”

“There were,” answers Emerya.

So Lephi has an overcaptain to watch out for him. Rather than say that, Lerial merely nods and waits.

“We shouldn’t be keeping you up longer,” Xeranya says. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

“What about the girls?”

“They’re both fine,” replies Emerya.

“Good.”

“It is getting late…,” offers Xeranya.

Lerial doesn’t press or question, but stands.

So does Emerya. “I need to check on Amaira.”

“I will see you both at breakfast.” Xeranya remains seated.

Once Lerial and Emerya are out in the corridor and well away from his parents’ chambers, Lerial looks to his aunt. “She wasn’t all that pleased to see me.”

“She’s worried. Wouldn’t you be if one son just came back from a fight that wasn’t supposed to have happened, another is riding patrols where there might be Heldyan armsmen, and your consort is fighting raiders and who knows who else in the north?”

Lerial can see that, but still thinks his mother was rather cool. “Why doesn’t Mother like Maeroja?”

“She thought Altyrn should have consorted a Cyadoran. There were so few men, except for the Lancers, and most of them were rankers,” replies Emerya. “There were only a handful of officers, all junior. As the senior Lancer officer in Cigoerne, the majer should have consorted one of the Magi’i young women. That’s what Xeranya felt. She’s never forgiven him for that.”

“Why?”

“Her sister Zanobya was interested…”

“I thought she ran off with a merchanter in Swartheld.”

“She did. After Altyrn ignored her advances. She was never happy here. She missed the luxuries of Cyad.”

“We have everything…”

“Lerial … we have nothing compared to what we had in Cyad. The palace here is the size of a villa that a small outland merchanter in Cyad might have possessed. The Palace of Light towered into the evening, ablaze with lights. The streets were all paved with white stone, harder than a cupridium blade. The awnings were all green, all the same shade. The piers where ships from across the seas docked were of white stone. Every delicacy appeared at table…”

“You’ve never said…”

“None of us ever have. Your grandmere would have torn out our tongues. What’s past is past-that was what she always said. She told us that Cyad had once been a tiny town, and that we had to rebuild just as those from the Rational Stars had to rebuild.”

“She said all that?”

“She did. She was right. We can’t dream about a past we can never reclaim. The future is all we can change.”

Abruptly, Lerial truly understands. His aunt was born in the height of luxury and has lost more than anyone who survived the fall of Cyador. She has no consort and no hope of one. She has no real position in Cigoerne. She has only her healing and her daughter … and scandal behind Amaira’s birth, and some small security in living in a palace that is nothing compared to where she had been raised.

Emerya says nothing in the dimness of the corridor.

Lerial looks toward the steps some twenty yards ahead, and the palace guard stationed there, and then back to his aunt.

“That’s not anywhere close to a standard Lancer blade, you know?” Emerya’s voice is matter-of-fact.

“I know. But the majer said it should belong to me.”

“So it should. So it should.” She offers an enigmatic smile, then says, “You killed the raider who attacked you, didn’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“You’ll come to recognize that, and other things, if you continue developing your abilities. You’ve been healing, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She pauses, then adds, “I’d avoid Saltaryn until your father returns. You might spend time sparring with the more experienced Lancers at headquarters-using blunted blades and armor-and occasionally accompanying me to the healing hall.”

Lerial frowns. Why is she suggesting both, when Saltaryn … “You think I need both skills. Might I ask why?”

“You might. Those who rule and those who advise rulers must always balance contradictions in order to succeed. Usually those conflicting contradictions involve power. Learning more about healing and more about war will begin to teach you balance … and that will prove useful.”

“You haven’t advised either Lephi or Father that way.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I don’t think you have. You’ve said they’re order-blind.” After a long moment, he asks, “What do you expect of me?”

“To be the best person you can, and you can’t be that unless you develop all your skills.”

Lerial cannot argue with that … although he knows his father would oppose what Emerya is proposing … if he knew.

“Good night, Lerial.”

“Good night.” Still thinking about all the undercurrents behind the evening’s conversation, and his mother’s coolness, he makes his way toward his chamber. At least … his chamber for a while.